In the Glow of the Night
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Post-war/dark, supernatural themes.  Sorceress Veran challenges the Heroes, but all isn't well, as they're struggling to recover from the tragedy of losing a lost comrade.  What they don't know is that he is alive, but no longer on their side... or is he?
1. Lonely People

_Author's Note: As always, the characters aren't mine, but the story is. This is a definite fandom experiment—there will be a lot of angst and supernatural things going on, so this prologue is pretty much a trial run; if it's well-accepted, I'll continue it. It's mostly Hogan's Heroes now, with a few Legend of Zelda cameos, but it will eventually become a full-fledged crossover, and will be moved to the crossover section when that happens._

* * *

Lightning cracked across the black-and-red sky as Louis LeBeau crept through the forests near Hammelburg. A cold rain was falling, drenching the Frenchman as he struggled to stay out of sight. He had never thought that he would be heading back to Stalag 13 after the war—using it as a shelter and a refuge, yet, after the years he had spent there as a prisoner. But tonight, Stalag 13 was a beacon in the darkness—a new darkness that no one had been able to see coming.

It wasn't so long ago that the Unsung Heroes were on one of their normal post-war missions—investigating activities of Communist agents. But everything changed that fateful day when a sorceress, who called herself Veran, was released from a prison that had been sealing her. She was now ruling her Second Age of Shadows, as she had always desired to. She covered the skies of the world with an eternal night, claiming it her own.

The Heroes, naturally, were not going to surrender to her so easily. And LeBeau was a valuable member as he had always been—able to sneak into small spaces and keeping everyone fed and healthy. And the Heroes were aided in their quest by none other than Klink and Schultz, who had both needed help and had offered it. Klink knew that Veran would be worse than the Russian Front could've ever been, and it was Schultz's idea to use Stalag 13 again. And Hogan had agreed, ordering the tunnels re-dug and the trapdoors put back in place.

Not all of the Germans they had crossed paths with were willing to help them, of course; Hochstetter, naturally, had tried to appeal to Veran to hire him in her army. The unimpressed sorceress had laughed—and had thrown the mustachioed major into one of the cells of the dungeon of Ambi's Tower.

But the Heroes, in spite of successfully remaining hidden, had not gone without losses. Oh, they had mostly gone unscathed… if you could possibly call it that. The Colonel Hogan who was leading them was a very different Hogan than the one who had been leading them up until the sorceress's release. The colonel now severely doubted his abilities as a leader, and LeBeau knew the reason why. It was the same reason why he, Louis LeBeau, was now a shadow of his former self, sad and depressed, and it was the reason why Andrew Carter had turned quiet and cold, nevermore flashing that smile which could've lit up Veran's darkness: they had lost someone dear to them—someone irreplaceable. He had no grave or remains to commemorate him; the circumstances of his loss were bizarre and had triggered all of the events that had later occurred.

It had started out so normally… The Heroes had received an assignment in Berlin, investigating a large, mysterious amethyst; Communist agents had made a dozen failed attempts at stealing it, which had prompted the Heroes to investigate why they possibly wanted a simple gem.

As he found his way back into the tunnels, a lump welled in LeBeau's throat as the memories of that day returned. There had been no warning as they had approached the pedestal with the amethyst on it. Peter Newkirk had made a crack about how they could probably switch it for a fake, like how they had given fake diamonds that time to Major Hegel, when he had been blackmailing them. The Englishman had then proceeded to take out the jeweler's lens that he often carried with him, and had picked up the amethyst to take a closer look at it.

And that was when it had happened. The amethyst had flashed with a blinding light. And LeBeau had been forever haunted by the Englishman's scream. At first, he thought that Newkirk had yelled because of the blinding flash, but when he had asked if he was alright and had received no answer, LeBeau had realized that something was horribly wrong.

Once their sight had been restored to them, the team had looked around. And that was when they had found the sweater, jacket, and hat of an RAF uniform, devoid of the person who had been wearing it only a moment ago. All of the items that had been in Newkirk's pockets had been strewn about the floor. The Englishman had been spirited away.

Oh, they had searched for him, trying to find out where he had gone, but to no avail—he had literally vanished before their eyes, without a single trace. But as they stepped outside and saw the new red-and-black sky, it had become all too clear that something new and horrible had started—Veran's Second Age of Shadows had begun.

At first, the others had held hope that Newkirk was indeed alive; after all, he had only just vanished. It wasn't as though they had found his body. But after three years had passed since Newkirk's vanishing, there still hadn't been a sign of him—not even a sighting. What they had known had been from the mouth of an oddly-eared young man—he claimed to be something called a "Hylian," and said that he knew of the sorceress who was behind this, having fought her before. But not even he could provide them with any information as to where Newkirk could have been—he only knew that Veran had taken Newkirk for some unexplained reason.

"He's dead," Carter had said one day, hollowly. "We'd have known if he was alive. He would've contacted us somehow; he was resourceful enough to have done it." He clenched a fist.

A furious Kinch had agreed, thinking that it must have been some sort of trade that the sorceress had done—exchange Newkirk's life essence in order to have a mortal form of her own. And it gave a horrible explanation as to why Newkirk's spirit had not visited them—the darkness had indeed assimilated him.

And LeBeau, who had been in utter denial for the past three years, had to break down and agree.

The Frenchman's heart twisted at the very memory as he approached the small memorial shrine that he and the others had made for Newkirk in the tunnel. It didn't consist of much—just a couple of photographs, Newkirk's hat, the stethoscope he had used for cracking safes, and his deck of cards. Two more years had gone by since LeBeau had accepted Newkirk's death. But that did not make the pain any less intense.

"I do not know if you can hear me, Pierre," he said, kneeling before the effects. "That Hylian boy says that you might not be able to, if your spirit really has been assimilated, but I want to believe that you can…" His words were punctuated by sobs. "We are still a team, you know, but it is not the same; it will never be the same. Kinch is even more quiet than usual, _le colonel_ has lost faith in himself as a leader because he wasn't able to save you, and André…" He shook his head. "André doesn't even smile anymore. And I… I just want to see you again."

He took the hat in his hands, holding it close to him.

"I miss you so much, _mon pote_." He sobbed again, hugging the hat as though it was his lost friend. "Maybe… Maybe, if we beat Veran, your spirit will be free, at least. And that means that I will see you again someday. That is the one thought keeping me going, Pierre. That is why I will not stop until this witch is defeated." He blinked back a few more tears. "I am so sorry that I wasn't able to help you. I heard you scream, and then you were gone. There should have been something I could've done to prevent it, but whatever it was, I did not do it, and I…" His words were lost as he choked out sobs. "…I can only hope that you are not suffering, wherever you are…"

LeBeau prayed with every fiber of his being that his next words would somehow reach his lost friend's ears. "I miss you, _mon pote_. And if you ever find a way to communicate with us, please do so."

Thunder crashed outside, but LeBeau did not hear it; he was far away—wherever his English friend was, struggling to give him a hug he could not feel.

* * *

The faraway city of Lynna was once again the capital of Veran's Second Age of Shadows. All of the shadows and darkness emitted from Ambi's Tower, where the Sorceress' throne was. Queen Ambi herself, who had been brought back to life along with Veran, was imprisoned in the dungeon of the tower that bore her name, along with the Princess Zelda of Hyrule. But the sorceress was looking for Naryu—the girl had been brought back along with the rest of Labrynna, but she had somehow escaped the island. Veran had sent minions to find her. So far, they had not succeeded, but that was only a minor frustration for the witch.

"The girl is not absolutely necessary," she said to her right-hand man, who went by the name of the Masked Shadow. "But I would still prefer that her interfering magic was locked away."

"Your frustrations are understandable, Milady," the Masked Shadow replied, his voice hauntingly soft; a trace of a Cockney accent remained, but it was almost unnoticeable—the darkness had worn it off of him. Green eyes glanced at Veran from behind the dark mask which covered his face. The man was also cloaked in a black robe. "If she aids the resistance, they could gain more power."

"But it still won't be enough," Veran assured him. "And yet… in spite of all of my minions searching for them, so many of them elude us. It's only a matter of time until they come here."

"Let them come," said the Masked Shadow. "I will strike down every one that dares to bring you 'arm."

"You would do that?" she purred, amused.

"But of course, Milady," he said. "You found me and took me in five years ago, when I show up without a single a memory or knowledge of who I was. You treated me as your son; of course I shall protect you to return the favor."

Veran smiled to herself.

"The opportunity may yet present itself," she said. "But for now, I wish for you to see how our prisoners fare. I shall require nothing else from you tonight."

"As you wish, Milady," the Masked Shadow replied. The man was lost in thought as he headed towards the tower dungeon. The only life he had ever known was that of the last five years, living here in the Tower. Often, he wondered what had happened previously in his life, and why he was not able to remember any of it. But with a new purpose in life, he didn't seem to mind much about his lost memories… except that for some unexplainable reason, something about this entire picture didn't seem right. He knew no other life, and yet, in the deepest reaches of his heart, felt as though that this was not how it should be. He forced himself to ignore the feeling; Veran had given him food and shelter, and he owed his loyalty to her and her alone. But it didn't stop those feelings from puzzling him at times.

And then there were the dreams. Every so often, he would have vague, fuzzy dreams. He did not remember the dreams specifically, but blurry bits and pieces—feelings of happiness, moments of laughter, moments of warmth and light… He forced himself to dismiss these as well; they made just as much sense as those odd feelings.

Reaching the dungeon, his green eyes leered at the prisoners behind bars, passing Hochstetter's cell, neither of them realizing that each was supposed to know who the other was. Along with Ambi in her cell was her descendant, Ralph. In the cell beside them was the green-haired Farore, Oracle of Secrets. And in the cell beside Farore was Princess Zelda. Veran had wasted no time in imprisoning the young woman whom she knew would bring her the most trouble. The Masked Shadow now hovered outside her cell, a smirk visible on his face, as the mask he wore did not cover his mouth.

"Your 'ope has not yet run out, Princess?" he asked, softly, still dropping the odd "h" whenever he spoke.

Zelda stared at him with fiery eyes.

"It shall never run out," she said. "But what about yours? It seems to have left you for the last five years."

The Masked Shadow laughed, scornfully.

"I am the most trusted advisor of Lady Veran," he said. "I've got power, and I don't need anything else."

Zelda shook her head. She sensed something about this young man from the moment she first saw him. She sensed that his true spirit was buried deep within the darkness of Veran's influence, but she was not sure if it was possible for him to break free from her influence alone.

_Who are you really?_ she wondered.

The Masked Shadow sneered at her once more before leaving the dungeons. He reported to Veran that everything was in order, and he retreated to his chamber.

Once there, he pulled the mask from his face and removed the hood of his robe, and a head of tousled brown hair fell into place. He now pulled the robe off; he was now shirtless, but wearing the same pair of blue trousers (pockets empty) that he had been wearing the day Veran had found him. But he didn't pay attention to those; who he used to be no longer mattered, he decided, especially since he wasn't able to remember anyway.

He crossed to his bed, deciding to partake in a well-earned sleep. But as he laid his head back onto his pillow, a strange voice echoed in the back of his mind.

_I miss you, mon pote. And if you ever find a way to communicate with us, please do so._

The man's eyes snapped open. What in the world was that voice? Why was he hearing it? And why was it saying those words to him? And why was he being so affected by it?

His heart was hammering in his chest as he sat up in his bed. He caught his breath, wiping the sweat from his face, and forced himself to lay back onto his pillow. He had to dismiss it as nothing—a mere product of his weary mind…

…even though that didn't seem right.


	2. Almost Like He's Here

_Author's Note: I really do wish that the character filters could choose three characters at a time, because Carter is going to play an important role in this fic along with LeBeau and Newkirk. Also, the Altes Schloss mentioned in this chapter is a real Bavarian castle, and it is within driving distance from Hammelburg._

* * *

LeBeau had spent the entire night in the tunnels, near the memorial shrine. He awoke in the early morning and made his way back through the tunnels and up into Barracks Two. The Frenchman had mixed feelings about the wooden structure. It was to be expected; after all, he had been kept here for years against his will. But it wasn't as though life had been unbearable here. He had met Newkirk, and though it had taken them some time to learn to get along. But he had found a loyal friend in the Englishman. And once the Americans had come into the picture, and they had started going on missions, life in Barracks Two not only had become bearable, but it had become almost… well, he wouldn't go so far as to say enjoyable, but it was satisfying. Yes, that was the word LeBeau was looking for—satisfying. And if he had it to do again, he wouldn't have changed a thing…

…Except not being able to stop Newkirk from touching that amethyst that day, five years ago.

Now, though, there was a lingering cloud of sadness in the barracks—sadness that had never been there during the war. And that feeling increased when LeBeau looked up at the empty top bunk by the door—the one where Newkirk had slept on for five years. The Frenchman's heart twisted.

The main room of the barracks was empty—LeBeau could hear the voices coming from Hogan's office. He tried to call out and announce his arrival, but his voice got lost halfway in his throat, and he instead spoke something unintelligible.

They heard him, though; Kinch opened the door, letting LeBeau inside.

"How're you holding up?" he asked, quietly.

LeBeau wanted to say that he was fine, but nothing could be further from the truth. He didn't reply; he just gave a weary shake of his head. Kinch didn't press further with the question, and he tried to change the subject.

"The colonel has been talking to that young Hylian," the older sergeant went on. "He says that our best bet to try to infiltrate that witch's stronghold is to find another sorceress—he called her an Oracle."

"If she is another sorceress, could she possibly get Newkirk back?" LeBeau asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Even if he is dead, and we could only speak to his spirit for a moment, it would be enough."

Kinch gave LeBeau a sympathetic look. Ever since the day Newkirk vanished, he and the other soldiers knew that while each of them would miss the Englishman in his own way, it would be LeBeau and Carter who would take the loss the hardest. And, sure enough, Carter started walling himself off, saying cynical things that were more in line with what Newkirk himself would've said. And as for LeBeau… That poor Frenchman had completely lost that spark with which he had always held in him; it was no longer "Vive la France." Now, it was "I miss Pierre." Kinch suspected that it was his desire to get his revenge on Veran that kept him going.

"I understand, Louis," he said, after some time. "We all do. Come on inside. That Hylian is going to tell us about that girl."

LeBeau gave a nod. Maybe it would get his mind off of how much he missed Newkirk, if only for a little while. Kinch placed a hand on his shoulder, thinking to himself how, five years ago, LeBeau would have been clamoring for the girl's description and relationship status—with Newkirk right beside him, also clamoring for the same information.

And Hogan would've been acting differently, too. Well, he'd have been interested in the girl, as well, of course, but he would already have been working on a dozen tentative invasion plans, since the girl's information would, hopefully, help them find a way to sabotage Veran as they had sabotaged the Germans.

LeBeau sat down in a chair as the Hylian spoke.

"I have been looking into familiar energy sources in the area," he said. "I believe I have sensed the energy of the Oracle Nayru in an old, Bavarian castle some distance from here—Altes Schloss, according to this map. I believe she has come here to help us."

LeBeau bit his lip, wanting to ask the question regarding if she could tell where Newkirk was, and possibly contact his spirit.

"And then she can find a way for us to infiltrate Veran's territory?" Hogan finished. "I'm still not sure I want to trust another sorceress, but I don't think we have much of a choice."

"Colonel Hogan, I find it most unwise to bring anyone else here," Klink said. "There is no way of knowing whether this Fraulein can be trusted with the knowledge of this… setup."

The setup had stunned Klink when the men had cleared out the tunnels. It had, of course, ultimately led to Hogan having to explain that, yes, Hochstetter had been right about them all long, that the accusations that Klink had found impossible were, in fact, true. It had been a most humbling moment for the German colonel, but Klink had been forced to concede that Hogan and the others were, perhaps, the only reason why he had survived that horrible war.

Perhaps that was why he had been more upset by the news of Newkirk's apparent death than he had expected to be. He had never really considered the Englishman a friend—if fact, being the prisoner of war with the greatest number of escape attempts in the history of Stalag 13, Newkirk had initially been a nuisance to Klink. The East Ender's hi-jinks had driven the colonel half-mad—from lugging Schultz back to camp in a wheelbarrow to the time he had set Klink's jacket on fire (albeit by accident). But he had never wanted to see Newkirk—or any of the others—dead.

The behavior of men was noticeably different—they were less happy, and more uncertain. Klink had to give them credit for their loyalty, at least. He couldn't think of many people who would still be holding onto a lost comrade this long, still vowing to take down a nigh-undefeatable enemy in his honor. As far as Klink could tell, it hadn't taken Gertrude Linkmeyer very long to get over the death of her husband, Otto. But Hogan and his men had changed so much. Before, Hogan would have argued or conned Klink into seeing things his way. The American colonel didn't have that trait anymore. Now, he just gave a half-hearted explanation that they didn't have any other choice but to trust this Oracle, whoever she was.

"But if you don't like the idea of bringing her in here, we can go to her," he said. "I'll go, but I'll need backup."

He looked at Klink, as though asking if he was volunteering. The German colonel hastily shook his head. He hadn't changed; he was still, as Hogan had once called him, Coward First Class.

"I will go, _mon colonel_," LeBeau said. If there was any way that he could get some information from this lady regarding what happened to Newkirk, he wanted to get it as soon as possible.

Carter, who had been leaning against the wall, finally spoke up.

"I'll go, too, Sir," he said, his voice brusque. "Assuming that she is on the level, I want to make sure that this lady isn't being watched herself—we can't afford being followed back here by the witch's minions—or worse, by that Masked Shadow creep."

The young American turned away, the light from the kerosene lamps in the room falling on his face. On his right cheek was a scar he had obtained a couple years ago. He sighed, absently running a hand over the scar. He remembered the day he received it all too well. He had been trying to obtain some much-needed food from one of the Hammelburg markets at the time. Like Hochstetter before her, Veran would often send minions and her two officers, the Masked Shadow and General Onox, frequently to make rounds in the Hammelburg area, since it was a known hotspot of resistance activity now, just as it had been during the war.

On that particular day, the Masked Shadow had spotted Carter. The sergeant had immediately tried to flee, but the Masked Shadow had drawn a bow and several arrows, attacking with lightning-quick reflexes. One arrow had torn a hole in Carter's shirt, and it was a second one that had given him the scar on his face. He had yelled in pain; at that point, the Masked Shadow had paused, and the barrage of arrows had stopped. Carter had glared back at the Masked Shadow, wondering why on earth he had stopped the attack, and then realizing that the man must've received orders from Veran to take him alive. Not one to allow that, Carter had fled, yelling oaths at the Masked Shadow, vowing that he would get his vengeance upon him. Carter successfully escaped, but the scar remained as an unwanted memento of the encounter.

It was Hogan's voice that brought Carter back to the present.

"Kinch, are you coming?"

"I don't think so, Sir," Kinch said. It was ironic. During the war, he had been disappointed that the number of field missions he could go on were limited. Now, though, with Newkirk gone, he didn't find field missions as tempting anymore.

"Schultz?" Hogan asked.

"Oh, I thank you for giving me the opportunity Colonel Hogan, but I… I must…" the sergeant stammered. "That is to say…"

"All right, Schultz," Hogan said. He turned to Olsen and Baker, who exchanged glances, but Hogan changed his mind, once again wavering on his decisions. "On second thoughts, maybe three is the best number. With too many people, it's easy to lose track of someone." He shut his eyes. "We've already lost one member of the team. I will not lose another."

"When do you want to leave?" LeBeau asked.

"In an hour," Hogan replied. "We can see if we can commandeer a vehicle in town." The vehicles in the motor pool, unfortunately, had been salvaged once the war had ended.

Carter removed his fingers from the scar on his face, a dark expression crossing his face.

"I'll check out the weapons," he said. "I've been working on a new surprise for the witch's minions."

It was a sentence that Carter would have said as his old self, but the way he said it was most unlike Carter. The old Carter would've said it with wide eyes and the enthusiasm of using a new creation of his. Now, though, he was talking with a voice laced with malice. Losing Newkirk had hardened his heart, and the desire for vengeance was what drove him now, as opposed to the love of life that had led him along before. He stood by the others now, vowing that no harm would ever befall his remaining comrades, and also vowing that Newkirk would be avenged.

His tone of voice did not escape the others, none the least of which was LeBeau. The Frenchman stayed behind as the others began to go their separate ways for the next couple of hours.

"André…" said LeBeau, trying to get through to him. "André, can I help you?"

Carter glanced at LeBeau, his eyes devoid of the warmth and mischievous twinkle that the Frenchman wished he could see again.

"I'll be fine," Carter insisted.

"André, please!" LeBeau pleaded. "Let me help you. Pierre would want us to still be a team—just like before!"

"Oh, and you're suddenly the expert of what Peter would've wanted?" Carter shot back. He had spoken without thinking; any time Newkirk was brought into the conversation, it made the young American's heart twist so much that he had to go on the defensive. "Just because you knew him the longest doesn't mean you can read his mind! I suppose you think I didn't know him well enough, huh?"

"No, André!" LeBeau said, afraid that this was going to happen. "I know you and Pierre were close, too—all three of us were! We were like the Three Musketeers—!"

"Oh, yeah? Some Musketeers we are!" Carter retorted, folding his arms again. "I wasn't able to help him. And I'm astounded that you, after knowing him for so long, wasn't able to help him, either!"

Carter's words struck deep into LeBeau; the Frenchman had never voiced the utter guilt that he felt for not being able to help Newkirk, but now, as Carter's cold words cut into him, the pain was visible in LeBeau's eyes, and Carter immediately regretted his harsh words.

"Louis," he said. "Louis, I didn't mean it—"

"No; you are right. Do whatever you want…!" LeBeau said, hastily fleeing from the room. He knew exactly where he would be going—back to the memorial site in the tunnels, the one place where he felt he could be as close to Newkirk as he could possibly be.

Kinch gave a start as LeBeau tore past him and climbed down into the tunnel. He wanted to say something, but LeBeau was gone before he even had the chance to say anything… not that he was sure he knew what he was supposed to say.

Carter, in the meantime, was standing dumbly as he realized what he had done. LeBeau was probably hurting the most from what had happened, and for Carter to snap at him like that would have undoubtedly wounded the Frenchman's spirit even more.

Hogan sized up what had happened with just a glance, and he sighed, at his wit's end. Between Carter's coldness and LeBeau's melancholy state, and his own shattered confidence, he didn't know what to do with them.

Schultz peeked into Hogan's office, seeing Carter standing there forlornly. The young sergeant was starting to look more like his old self.

"Carter?" he asked.

"I know Schultz," said Carter, quietly. "I know. You don't have to tell me that I went way out of line and hurt Louis when he was already depressed and hurting more than he ever had before." He kicked the wall. "He was right, too; we used to be so close—him and Peter and me. We always knew there was danger involved, but I guess we never thought that one of us was really going to kick the bucket—we missed it all those times. And once the war ended, I guess we really thought we were invincible. And then Peter vanished. All those other times one of us got in trouble, we always got him out of it, so I guess we all went on thinking that this time wouldn't be any different." He shook his head. "We never found him. I didn't want to believe it, but then… when we never heard from him…"

"You suffered a heavy loss," Schultz agreed. "It is only natural to be upset. I would have been upset."

"But you wouldn't have accused someone who was hurting that they could've done something," Carter replied. "Louis has probably been beating himself up about it ever since Peter vanished, and I'll bet there isn't a day that it doesn't cross his mind at least once."

"He is hurting, too," Schultz said. "And I miss Newkirk, too."

A ghost of a smile crossed Carter's lips.

"I'm not surprised," he said.

Schultz was pleased that he had gotten Carter's mind off of the fight; hopefully he'd be able to do the same to LeBeau.

"I will leave you be; you should get ready so that you can go with Colonel Hogan," he said.

"Right," said Carter, half-heartedly, turning his thoughts back to the mission. "I just hope I don't say or do anything to make LeBeau feel worse when we go."

He headed off and out of the barracks, trying to get a breath of fresh air in the now-deserted compound, thinking about how things had changed—and how he had changed since Newkirk's death.

He began to speak, hoping Newkirk could somehow hear him.

"I guess… or, at least, I _hope_ that your troubles are over, Peter," Carter said. "But ours aren't—especially mine. I can't let them get away with what they did to you. Veran and her two flunkies are going to pay."

He kicked a rock, which scuttled across the ground.

"We miss you a lot, Peter," he went on. "If you're out there, and you can hear me… I want you to know that I want to know what you honestly think of me now. Louis is right; you probably wouldn't want to see us like this, but I guess you were an important part of who we are. That doesn't excuse what I've become, or how I've hurt Louis, but I promise, as soon as this is all over, I'm going to try to return to my old self again, assuming he isn't gone for good."

He looked up into sky. Through a tiny gap in the red clouds, a meteor slipped in and out of view, very briefly. But to Carter, it made him feel worse because of the memories it evoked. He sighed, suppressing the overwhelming sadness in him, bottling it up further.

"You always used to tease me whenever I did something like making wishes on shooting stars, but if such a thing is real, well… I wish I could see you again, because I sure could use your help right about now. We all could."

* * *

The Heroes, weren't the only ones aware of Nayru's location; Carter's cynical theory of the lady being watched was, in fact, true. Since the Oracle was a thorn in Veran's side, Veran was pleased upon finding out from her minions that the lady was hiding in the Altes Schloss. However, her attempts at having Onox breach the castle met in failure.

"It's no use, Veran; she has some sort of barrier around that place that allows only those pure of heart to enter the threshold," said Onox.

The General of Darkness, Onox, had once been Veran's equal—centuries ago. But in this world, which was crafted to the witch's every whim, the proud general found himself as her subordinate, which he resented, but lived with. After all, other sorceresses had tried to limit Veran's power as it began to grow, and she responded by encasing them in stone and ordering them to be sent back to Ganondorf, the evil Gerudo King she had once served. There had been no response from Ganondorf as of yet—something which Onox was desperately grateful for; Ganondorf's rage would undoubtedly hold no bounds.

But, perhaps, the most annoying thing for Onox was how he was only third in command—Veran insisted on coddling that young mortal, the Masked Shadow, and she had declared that the young man's word overrode the general's. Why Veran fawned over a scrawny Englishman who had nary a drop of magical blood in him was a mystery to the general. Despite the fact that the young man had no magic in him, Veran's monsters and minions obeyed him without question as they would obey her; this, too, puzzled Onox.

"If Nayru has set up such a barrier, then it will be only too easy to breach it; I will send the Masked Shadow," Veran said.

"You expect that young man to get through a barrier that only admits one of pure heart?" Onox sneered.

"Indeed," she said, and she clapped her hands. The Masked Shadow, who had awakened from his fitful sleep of odd dreams, had donned his shadow robe and mask once again and appeared before her.

"Milady?" he asked, with a bow.

"I want you to do something for me," she purred. "I will send you to a castle in Bavaria. You must breach the barrier that surrounds it. Once you do so, contact me telepathically, and I will instruct you how to shatter the barrier from the inside-out. This will allow the monsters to gain entry and capture Nayru, but see to it that she is brought to me unharmed."

"Yes, Milady," he said. "But what shall I do in the event that she defeats the minions or escapes?"

"Never mind if that happens; we will have her on the run, at least," she said. "It will be easy to capture her then, if that is the case. Now, prepare yourself; you leave immediately."

Shadows surrounded the young man, which transported him to outside the Altes Schloss with a few dozen monstrous minions. In their own tongue, he ordered them to stay until he breached the seal. He turned, preparing to force the large doors open when another odd voice whispered in another part of the back of his mind.

_You always used to tease me whenever I did something like making wishes on shooting stars, but if such a thing is real, well… I wish I could see you again, because I sure could use your help right about now. We all could._

The Masked Shadow again forced himself to dismiss the voice. It was a different one from the night before, but it made no difference to him. Perhaps later, he could ask Veran what they meant. But for now, he would have to treat them as nothing—the same way he would have to treat the unexplainable twisting in his heart.


	3. Empty Rooms

LeBeau was partway through the tunnel towards the memorial chamber, holding back his tears and the growing sobs. He didn't blame Carter; as far as LeBeau was concerned, it had been his fault that he hadn't been able to help Newkirk that day—he had been right next to him! Carter had probably been carrying this sentiment for five years, and finally snapped and spoken it…

A slight cry burst forth from LeBeau's lips as he collided with one of his companions.

"Olsen?" he asked, not expecting to see him here.

"What are you doing back here?" asked Olsen. "I thought you were on your way to the Altes Schloss with Carter and the colonel."

LeBeau nodded; he still intended on going, but he wanted to get rid of whatever pain he could before he had to leave.

"I was just…" he began. "André said…" He trailed off, the crushing weight on his shoulders growing more and more massive, and he buried his face in his hands.

Olsen's eyebrows arched. Not wanting to force the Frenchman to say anything he didn't want to, he was tempted to let the matter pass, but Olsen had seen in LeBeau's eyes a hurt that he had never seen him harbor before. As much as LeBeau had hated being a captive of the Germans during the war, there was no doubt that their underground operation made life bearable for the patriotic Frenchman. And Newkirk had been a large part of that equation. In fact, the past five years of hiding out and struggling to survive while staying hidden was probably bringing back memories of the war, and that, in turn, was making Newkirk's absence all the more unbearable.

Olsen sighed now. Though he had worked with Newkirk on their missions several times, he knew that he was never as close to him as LeBeau and Carter had been. That wasn't to say that he didn't miss Newkirk himself, though.

"You have my sympathy for your loss—_our_ loss," he said to the Frenchman. "Newkirk was a buddy of mine, too."

"I could have done something," LeBeau said, struggling to hold the last vestiges of his shell together. "I _should_ have done something!"

"Come on, LeBeau," said Olsen. "You think I didn't beat myself up about this? We _all_ feel as though we let Newkirk down."

LeBeau looked up at him, looking questioningly at him for a moment. Suddenly, the Frenchman's eyes widened in realization. He understood what Olsen was trying to say; he, LeBeau, was not the only one mourning the Englishman's death. They all were; that was why the team was so shaky now without him.

"I am sorry," he said. "I was so caught up in my own grief, I did not stop to think…" LeBeau trailed off, hesitating. "Forgive me, Olsen. André has every right to be upset; I probably made him feel as though I was the only one who had the right to keep on mourning Pierre."

Olsen bowed his head. "There's no reason to apologize. I don't think any of us can stop ourselves from thinking what Newkirk would be doing with him if he was here. The plans we'd be making with him… the crazy things he'd be doing, like stealing from Veran's minions. You know he would…"

"We would probably be forcing him to dress up as Frau Newkirkberger again," LeBeau added. Despite himself, he managed a smiled. "Pierre always hated that disguise with a passion."

"Well, can you blame him?" Olsen asked. "He was good at a lot of things, but he made for one very ugly woman!"

LeBeau chuckled, and then felt disgusted with himself for doing to.

Olsen sighed, looking towards the direction of the shrine.

"Newkirk saved my life once," he said, quietly. "We were out on a mission in Hammelburg to meet with a member of the Underground—it was one of the first times we had gone to town. The meeting was going fine, but all of a sudden, an air raid siren went off." Olsen shook his head. "The next thing I knew, there were explosions going off all around us, and soldiers and civilians running everywhere; I was certain that if the air raid didn't get me, I'd be trampled by the crowd. Newkirk kept his head the entire time; he made sure our contact and I made it through safely."

"Pierre was always like that," LeBeau agreed. "He never put his own life first; if he had known what that terrible amethyst was going to do to him, he would've seized it anyway to stop the rest of us from being taken by Veran."

"I know," said Olsen. "That's one of the reasons why I feel I owe it to him to go on that scouting mission the colonel mentioned."

"Scouting mission? When did he mention that?" the Frenchman asked.

"It was shortly before you joined us for the meeting," Olsen explained. "That Hylian kid had mentioned how this Nayru might know where Veran is and how to stop her. Colonel Hogan was saying that he was thinking of having two of us go scout the area to see what we're up against. I was going to volunteer because of the debt I feel I owe Newkirk. You probably feel the same way. Since the colonel was thinking of sending two scouts…"

He trailed off, and the Frenchman looked to him, his eyes widening.

"What are you saying?" he asked. "That you and I go if we find a location?"

Olsen gave a nod. "For Newkirk."

LeBeau closed his eyes, thinking of Newkirk. The day they met in the cooler… Arguing whether or not London was better than Paris… The numerous missions they had gone on… The gin games…

The Frenchman opened his eyes again, staring back at Olsen. He nodded.

"For Pierre," he agreed.

They may not be able to change the past, but they had a chance to change the future. And LeBeau vowed that he would.

* * *

Once Carter and LeBeau had felt themselves ready to go, they caught up with the colonel. LeBeau did not speak of what he and Olsen had decided to do; he was going to bring that up if and when Nayru was able to tell them where to find Veran.

Both NCOs were silent as Hogan managed to commandeer a car and drive them towards the Altes Schloss. They eventually arrived at an old, ruined castle.

"You mean this is it?" Carter asked, sounding briefly like his old self as he saw the ruin. "This is where that lady's hiding out? The only thing standing is the keep!"

"Can you think of a better place to hide?" Hogan mused, also sounding slightly like his old self. "If you're being hounded, where else would you hide than a place that nobody would think to look for you?"

"Yeah, I guess so," the sergeant agreed. He looked around, nervously.

LeBeau gasped as he pointed at a several sets of indents in the ground—footfalls from people who had recently come by.

"These footfalls are here, and the door of the keep has been left ajar," he said, opening the door further to reveal the darkened hallway. "Someone was here—and whoever it was used the dark to move unseen."

Hogan frowned, looking into the darkened entryway of the keep, and then froze as he heard a flap of wings.

"Down!" he ordered, motioning for the others to duck.

They did so, in time to dodge a swooping monster bat. LeBeau cursed the creature, regretting that there was nothing that he could make out of bat meat.

"Quickly," said Hogan, as soon as the bat was out of sight and the path ahead was clear. "I just hope we aren't too late."

He took several steps forward into the keep, aiming a flashlight around.

"Colonel, look out ahead!" Carter called.

Hogan froze as a dozen armored, sword-wielding skeletal monsters emerged from the shadows, illuminated by the beam of light.

"Oh, boy…" the colonel muttered. Fighting against mortal soldiers during the war had been difficult enough; fighting against these undead Stalfos was going to be nigh impossible.

That didn't mean that they weren't going to try. Bullets began to fly at the skeletons. While the barrage halted the attacks of the Stalfos he took on, it merely knocked them down and put them out of commission for only a few minutes of a time. LeBeau and Carter now arrived by his side to help, temporarily downing more skeletons with their own weapons. It was all they needed, though, to get away from them.

"Spread out and search for the girl!" Hogan ordered. "Just take them down and keep running before they get up again!"

The three soldiers split up, Carter ducking into a room which was quiet. The sergeant sighed, relived for a chance to catch his breath. He chose this moment to reload his gun, and looking over his charges. He had brought weak charges, knowing that there was a chance that they would be battling inside the keep, but he hadn't expected the castle to be as ruined as it was. Setting off even the smallest charge could result in bringing down a good portion of the keep—right on top of them.

After successfully loading his weapon, Carter pulled out a flashlight and began to slowly guide the beam around the room.

"Nothing here…" he murmured.

And that was when he heard the soft, sinister chuckle coming from the back of the hall.

"Are you so certain?" the voice said.

"Who's there?" Carter demanded, frantically moving the flashlight beam with one hand and holding his weapon in the other.

"Perhaps I should ask you the same question," the soft voice purred.

At last, Carter's flashlight beam fell upon the Masked Shadow.

"You!" the sergeant fumed, his eyes beginning to fill with anger.

"Ah, yes, one of the resistance—the one with the slow mind and the fast feet," the Masked Shadow chuckled. "Though not fast enough to escape arrows, it seems…"

Carter absently felt the scar on his face, his rage increasing the more he heard the man speak. "I still got away—guess that doesn't say much about you."

The Masked Shadow hesitated. He had stopped the attack after the man had been injured. He wasn't sure why, nor was he sure why he had let the man escape when he could have easily captured him or taken him down altogether.

"Well," the Masked Shadow purred as Carter took a few steps forward, aiming his gun at him. "I won't be making that mistake again."

Carter froze as the flashlight was briefly reflected in a piece of metal in the Masked Shadow's hands—he had drawn a small knife. Had the light in the room been better, Carter would've recognized it as a very familiar throwing knife; as it was, he did not.

The Masked Shadow threw the knife. Carter, by reflex, moved his hand to protect the rest of his body, resulting in the knife striking the gun, knocking it right out of his hand.

There was a clattering sound as both the gun and the knife went scooting along the stone floor, and the Masked Shadow cursed under his breath.

The Masked Shadow ran forward; perhaps he was trying to find his knife before Carter found the gun. But Carter wasn't even looking for it—he threw a punch at the Masked Shadow, his fist landing right on the man's chin.

The Masked Shadow was knocked back several feet, and he retreated to the shadows, leaving Carter to look around with the flashlight beam for him.

"You run like a coward!" Carter yelled. "You probably work for Veran so that you can get a cut of her Second Age of Shadows deal!"

"You say that as though it was a bad thing," the Masked Shadow said.

"Of course it's a bad thing!" Carter snarled. "This isn't how the world is supposed to be! The world is supposed to be a place full of light and hope—and it was before that witch took over!"

"You, clearly, will never understand," the Masked Shadow hissed.

"I sure as heck will never understand!" Carter retorted. "Not after she murdered my friend! I'll never understand that! I'll never understand why he vanished without a trace or why I never even got a chance to say goodbye!" He clenched his fists as he glared at the Masked Shadow, unable to see the irony of what he was about to say. "And I'll tell you this—if he were still here, he'd give you what for!"

"If your friend is dead, then Veran had good reason to see that it happened that way. Perhaps your friend would have brought misfortune upon the world, and Veran had to save the world from him."

"The only misfortune is her!" Carter retorted. "And you and anyone else who works for her!"

"If you keep living in your delusion," the Masked Shadow warned. "You won't be continuing to do so for much longer."

He lunged, still without a weapon, but Cater was ready. The sergeant elbowed the Masked Shadow in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and he followed up with a karate chop across the Masked Shadow's shoulders which floored the man.

When the Masked Shadow did not rise, Carter assumed that he was knocked out. The sergeant moved to apprehend the man, but the second he leaned over, the Masked Shadow suddenly rose, launching into an uppercut as he did so, which now sent Carter across the empty room, where he lay stunned.

The Masked Shadow now strode over to him, pausing as he stepped on what turned out to be his own throwing knife. He picked up the knife, now striding towards Carter again. He would take care of this one, now… wound him so that he could take him to Veran…

"Carter? Carter!" Hogan's voice called from outside.

"André, where are you?"

The Masked Shadow cursed again. So, his Stalfos has failed in stopping them _and_ in finding Nayru? The Masked Shadow knew he was now outnumbered; he was not going to try anything else tonight.

The cloaked man made a break for the door, pushing past the shocked colonel and corporal so quickly that he had vanished before they even realized who he was.

Carter shook the cobwebs from his head as he struggled to rise, the Masked Shadow's retreating footsteps ringing in his ears.

"Get back here!" the sergeant ordered. "Don't run from me!"

"It's too late Carter; he's out of here," Hogan said, helping the sergeant to his feet

LeBeau followed him, nearly stepping on the gun that had fallen during the fight. He picked it up, handing it back to the younger American.

"I almost had him," Carter said, with a shake of his head. "I almost had that Masked Shadow, Colonel. He was faking being knocked out and knocked me across the room."

"Well, just be glad that was the worst that happened to you," Hogan sighed.

"Are you hurt?" LeBeau asked.

"I'll be fine," Carter assured him, massaging his jaw.

"That's good to hear," a new, female voice said.

The three soldiers turned to see a lady in blue creeping through the doorway.

Hogan stared at her for a moment before giving a nod of understanding.

"You're Nayru," he said. It wasn't a question. "You may as well know why we're here."

"You came looking for me for information on how to defeat Veran? Yes, I surmised as much; you, clearly, are not the only ones who are aware that I have this valuable information. My barrier was successful in keeping Veran's minions out until today," the lady said, glancing in the direction that the Masked Shadow had fled.

"That's about the size of it," said Hogan. "My name is Colonel Robert Hogan; I was the head of a resistance operation in the last war, and I'm running one again now. But this all started after one of my men vanished when he picked up an amethyst—"

"I see," Nayru said, cutting him off. "I was afraid of this…"

"Afraid of what?" LeBeau asked, his heart growing still.

"Veran magically connected herself to your friend when he touched that amethyst. She created a body for herself at his expense—using his life force to provide her own strength, like a parasite."

The Frenchman stared at her in horror.

"What do you think happened to him?" he asked.

"It is impossible to say," said Nayru, being completely honest. "It depends on how much of his life energy Veran is using for herself. Your friend could have been consumed by the darkness if she decided to spare his life. Or he could be dead, with his spirit imprisoned somewhere. I'm afraid that I do not have the answers."

All hope left LeBeau, and Carter, as well. If Nayru held no hope now that Newkirk was alright, then he probably was not.

"Do you think he could still hear us if we tried to talk to him?" Carter asked.

Nayru shrugged helplessly.

"When Veran last struck, she merely possessed me, forcing me to do what her spirit willed," she said. "She did not try to use my life force as she did with your friend, so I cannot tell you what would become of her host in this case."

LeBeau murmured something in his own tongue and turned away, losing every last shred of hope he had struggled to hold onto for this long. Carter looked like he was crushed and furious at the same time, and Hogan just stared at Nayru with an unreadable expression.

"It's better that you didn't sugarcoat it," the colonel said at last. "Thank you for telling us this. If what you say is true, and there really is no hope for him, then we have to get rid of her for his sake."

"I am happy to inform you that I do know the way to stop Veran," said Nayru. "Veran's spell may have brought her greater power, but she is now, once again, a mortal."

"Because of Peter," Carter fumed, punching the stone wall in his anger. "She's only mortal because she stole Peter's life energy!"

Nayru gave him a look.

"Sorry… ma'am…"

"Your anger is justified," she said. "Use it against Veran, but do not lose yourself in the process. Since Veran is mortal again, all you would need to do is slay her. But there is limited time. Veran continues to amass more power as the days go on; she is seeking the gain enough power so that she may become immortal."

"We've got to stop her!" Carter exclaimed. "Colonel, did you hear that? "

"Yes," Hogan said, frowning. "I was told that you would know where Veran is, and how to get there."

"I do," Nayru said. "She is ruling from the top of Ambi's Tower in Labrynna. As for how to get there… You will not be able to get there as easily as you were able to get here. Labrynna is an island."

"We can get access to a plane," Hogan said. Klink had managed to pull enough strings to grant them access to an old plane, should they ever need one.

"Good. I have a friend who has already snuck into the town of Hammelburg; she has a map and other items you will find useful," said Nayru. "Her name is Din. We can arrange a meeting tomorrow, and we can combine my knowledge with her items to better prepare you for your fight, though you may wish to scout ahead first."

"Yeah; that was the idea I had in mind," Hogan said.

"Which reminds me, _Colonel_," said LeBeau, the haunted look in his eyes not leaving him since hearing Nayru's grim outlook for Newkirk. "Olsen and I have volunteered to be the scouts."

"You what?" Carter asked, stunned. "Just like that?"

"We'll discuss this when we get back," Hogan said. He turned to Nayru. "What will you do?"

"It won't be safe for me here," Nayru said. "My friend Din is at a place called the Hausnerhof; I will join her there."

"Right," said Hogan. "We'll drop you off there on our way back, and I'll have someone send for the both of you in the morning; they'll guide you to our base in Stalag 13."

Nayru nodded.

"Let's get going," the colonel ordered.

They were one step closer to defeating Veran, they knew. But that did not lift the crushing weight off of their heavy hearts.

* * *

"Milady," the Masked Shadow said as he bowed before Veran. He flinched—his shoulder was still hurting from Carter's karate chop. He didn't notice that Veran, too, was massaging her shoulder. Onox, however, noticed, and the pieces were beginning to come together for him.

"What happened?" Veran inquired.

"Milady, the resistance 'as found Nayru," he said.

Veran's eyes blazed. A curse upon those meddlesome fools! "And they hurt your shoulder?"

"One of them did, Milady—the slow-headed one," he said, massaging his shoulder. "But… 'ow did you know?"

"Never mind how I knew," she said. "You may retire for the evening; I shall figure out our next course of action. If they do get Nayru's information, they may try coming here. And we must be ready."

"Of course, Milady," said the Masked Shadow. He retreated to his room as Veran pondered over a glass of wine.

"Very interesting," Onox smirked. "He gets hit on the shoulder, and you feel the pain along with him?"

Veran froze, but glanced at Onox, annoyed. "Just what does that have to do with anything?" she insisted. "He is my heir, and there is nothing else to the matter."

"Nothing… except that now I am beginning to understand why you coddle this mortal so much," Onox said, with a grin. "Whatever happens to him also happens to you, isn't that right?" His grin grew as Veran became more angered. "Aha, so this is that mortal whose life energy you've tapped into? That is how you returned and grew to such power, is it not?"

"Leave me, Onox, I wish to be alone," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "And if I even see you attempt to inflict any harm on my heir, you will be encased in stone and sunken into the Sea of Storms!"

Onox's grin vanished; he knew that Veran was not bluffing. He was expendable in her reign; apparently, the only one who was _not_ expendable was this Englishman she fawned over.

"As you wish," Onox said, bowing as he retreated from her.

Veran went back to her glass of wine, confident that Onox would not attempt anything. Yes, it was true that she was using the Englishman's life energy to sustain herself. But she would ensure that no harm befell him; he was much more useful alive as her eyes and ears. And she was also pleased that the Englishman's encounter with that younger member of the resistance was so highly confrontational. That was a good sign—the Englishman's memories were sealed away for good, and she, Veran, had transformed him to someone whom not even those closest to him could recognize.

Her lips were smiling as she raised the glass to them. She would have to see to it that the next confrontation between the Englishman and his former comrades ended with him destroying them.


	4. Can't You See?

The night passed without incident—Nayru was taken to the Hausnerhof where Din already was, and monsters in the forest passed by Stalag 13 without a second glance. Carter didn't get much sleep, though; he spent most of the night lying awake, thinking. He had been stunned at LeBeau's announcement that he was going to scout Labrynna with Olsen, and he couldn't help but worry that his angry snapping earlier had somehow driven the Frenchman to make that decision.

_Peter would be ashamed of you_… he chided him himself_. He wouldn't have wanted to see you become so… different from who you once were._

_But Peter can't see me—and it's all Veran's fault_, said the other half of Carter's mind.

_Well, what about Louis…?_ asked his rational mind. _You hurt him with your words when he has not stopped hurting for the last five years. Are you truly going to let him go to Labrynna when he is in such a vulnerable state?_

_There's nothing I can say that will convince Louis to change his mind now_, said the bitter part of his mind. _And I don't have a right to say anything. But there is one thing I can do—bring that Masked Shadow to justice the next time I see him. And I have to hope that I'll see Louis and Olsen again_.

Carter sighed, trying to block out any further conversations with himself. He would have to talk to LeBeau before he left with Olsen.

He sighed, shutting his eyes. But sleep was unattainable for a mind as harried as his. Still, it wouldn't hurt to try, even if it would be time to get up soon…

He heard a creak as LeBeau got down from his bunk to make breakfast. Well, now was as good a time as any…

"Louis?"

The Frenchman gave a start; he had not expected Carter to be awake.

LeBeau looked to Carter, questioningly.

"_Quoi_?" he asked, quietly.

Carter opened his mouth, but no words came out. For once in his life, Andrew Carter was at a loss for words.

LeBeau waited for Carter to say something. When he did not, the Frenchman shook his head, convinced that Carter was just going to bring up Newkirk again. And thinking about him would be enough to make them all feel depressed again. LeBeau stared at his ingredients, wishing more than ever that Newkirk was there to make snide remarks about his cooking, just like before.

Never before had LeBeau longed to hear such insults to his talents.

One by one, the others began to awaken as they smelled breakfast being prepared. Hogan sat at the table, jotting down some notes—plans to try to put forth to Din and Nayru when they arrived. Carter still tried to say something to LeBeau, but found the words getting caught in his throat once again.

Kinch watched the whole scene unfold, sighing as a dejected Carter left the barracks to take a walk. The older sergeant sighed, understanding Carter's problem all too well. Words had been getting caught in his throat since the last five years, as well. He didn't get into arguments as Carter seemed to be doing, however. But that didn't mean that he wasn't suffering all the same.

Baker stood to the side, also watching. He had noticed how much quieter Kinch had gotten. Well, Kinch had always been the quiet one, but Baker had always been able to strike up a conversation with the older sergeant. Now, not so much; everyone seemed to be keeping to himself. That unity that they had shared during the war was all but gone now; it had suddenly become clear why they had always stopped one of the team from wanting to leave whenever he had gotten homesick—replacing a team member would have been impossible. And it was impossible now.

During the war, chatter had filled Barracks Two. Now, though, Baker also found it impossible to talk much with his colleagues—they were all too changed by the loss of Newkirk, and he didn't blame them in the slightest. But he had to admit that it hurt at times—not being able to talk to LeBeau because he was always too depressed… not being able to talk to Carter because he was always too furious with himself… not being able to talk to Hogan because his confidence was gone…

It was halfway through breakfast that the barracks door reopened, and Carter arrived with Din and Nayru in tow.

"I found them outside…" he said, slightly baffled and sounding slightly like his old self. "They snuck all the way here from Hammelburg!"

Hogan stared at them for a moment.

"For future reference, Ladies, we have a tunnel," the colonel said, hoping that they hadn't been followed.

He crossed to the door and looked outside, but saw nothing.

"We were careful, Colonel Hogan," Nayru said, seeing his actions. "We know how to avoid being seen."

"All the same, we don't take chances," Hogan said, closing the door. "We used the tunnels during the war, and we'll use them again now. And even though you two are civilians, you can consider it an order."

"With command like that, can I assume that you are the leader of this team?" asked the redheaded Din.

"That's right," Hogan sighed, still wondering what kind of leader he was to not be able to help Newkirk when he had needed it the most.

Din studied him for a moment, and shook her head.

"No, I am sorry, you will not do…"

Hogan blinked.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"Hey, just hold on a second!" Carter said. "Colonel Hogan saved our lives during the war—he always looked out for us! Just because Veran took us by surprise and took Peter doesn't mean that you can overthrow him as our leader! He still knows what we're doing more than any of us!"

But Din just smiled.

"I am not overthrowing him; you can put your mind at ease concerning that. I assumed that I was to give this to the leader," she said, holding out an odd-looking staff. "But his aura does not suit it."

"Lady, I don't know where you're from, but staffs aren't vogue among military leaders," Hogan said, with a roll of his eyes. "I don't have much use for a swagger stick like _some_ people do."

Klink let out a harrumph.

"Forgive me for being presumptuous, Colonel Hogan," Din said. "But I see now that you probably would not be able to use the Rod of Seasons for anything more than a swagger stick. However…"

She turned to Carter, who blinked in surprise.

"You look as though you are more in tune with the aura of Nature," she said. "It seems to be in your own aura. What is your name?"

"Andrew Carter," the sergeant said, baffled. "Though they also call me Little Deer Who Goes Swift and Sure Through Forest."

"Ah, of course, he is descended from people who were far more in tune to the aura of Nature than most," Nayru said.

"Take it," Din insisted. "Nayru and I had a talk and she said that this would be the best thing for you."

"And why did she ask you to give me this?" Carter asked, staring at it.

"Because I noticed how badly you fared in your battle with the Masked Shadow last night," said Naryu, flinching slightly as Carter frowned in response. "As one of the key members of the resistance, you are a prime target for Veran's forces, especially after your brush with the Masked Shadow. But you have no magical powers of your own to counter them, as was evidenced in your battle last night."

"Well, what about Louis or the colonel?" asked Caster. "They don't have any magical power, either, and they're just as wanted as I am. Heck, the colonel's the one they'd be after the most!"

"Perhaps, but you are the only one whose aura can possibly use it. Please, take it," said Din. "If you learn to harness it, it will allow you to use the elements of nature to your advantage."

Carter cast a suspicious look at the Rod of Seasons.

"So, I can use it to create a whole bunch of vines to ensnare that Masked Shadow the next time I see him?" he asked.

Din flinched. "Well, yes…"

LeBeau flinched, too. The older Carter from five years ago would have gleefully accepted the Rod of Seasons and asked if he could use it to dig tunnels in five seconds.

"Then I'll take it…" Carter said, accepting the item. "Anything to level the playing field against that monster…"

LeBeau just bowed his head. Yes, the Masked Shadow was a monster. But Carter was falling prey to the monster in his heart that he had created and fed with his rage over the last five years. And then there was LeBeau's own case—how he had sealed himself off from everyone else.

_I am all alone_… LeBeau realized. He suppressed a shudder. _And it is my own fault. It is a terrible, hopeless feeling… And you are feeling it now, too, wherever you are, aren't you, Pierre? I am so sorry… I really wish I was with you, wherever you are_… He looked around at the scene. _But I cannot be there; I have to help stop Veran. You understand, don't you, Pierre?_

He received no reply.

Hogan cleared his throat.

"Ladies, I believe you came here to discuss as to how we can defeat Veran," he said, folding his arms.

"Yes," said Nayru. "Here is a map of Labrynna, and here is the tower where she is currently reigning from."

She placed the map on the table, and the others all gathered around it.

"As I mentioned last night, she is trying to gather enough power to make herself invincible," she said. "But there is a catch. In her current form, she can only hold so much power. In order to hold all the necessary power, she has to change her form to a giant, demonic spider. It is then that she is the most vulnerable to something other than magic—something that, I am told, you are experts in. When she takes the form of a spider, her one vulnerability is that she can be wounded by explosives."

"You're kidding!" Carter blurted out, sounding like his old self again. "That, I can do with no problem!"

Nayru smiled, but her smile soon faded.

"Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing when that time will come."

"So, you're saying we have to lay low until we hear that she's transformed?" Hogan asked.

"I'm afraid so," she replied. "But, this way, you have plenty of time to prepare. You can have the time you need to make your arsenal and to scout the area."

"Scouts…" Hogan repeated, turning to LeBeau and Olsen. "We may as well get started, then."

LeBeau and Olsen both nodded in agreement.

"_Colonel_," LeBeau said. "We will leave as soon as possible."

Carter turned his head sharply towards LeBeau.

"Louis…!" he gasped.

The Frenchman glanced at him, the sadness all too evident in his eyes.

Hogan willed his jaw not to lock in the midst of this awkward situation. "Well, if you really think you're ready, the plane that Klink got for us is on the airfield just outside the camp."

"I am ready," LeBeau insisted.

"So am I, Colonel," Olsen said. "Let's go."

"Hey, wait!" Carter said, running after them.

He seized LeBeau by the shoulder just outside the barracks door.

"_Quoi_?" the Frenchman asked again, slightly cool towards his friend. He was clearly going to walk on eggshells after yesterday.

Carter's heart sunk at LeBeau's tone of voice, but he couldn't blame him in the slightest. He cast the Rod of Seasons aside and placed his other hand on the Frenchman's other shoulder.

"Listen," said Carter, softly. "We need to talk later." He swallowed hard. "So make sure you come back, okay?"

LeBeau's eyes widened slightly, understanding the full meaning of Carter's words. He blinked back a few forming tears and nodded.

"_Oui_," he said. "I will come back." He managed a wan smile. "See you later, André."

Carter looked to the ground for a moment, but then back at LeBeau, returning the wan smile.

"See you later, Louis," he said, softly. "You, too, Olsen."

The other sergeant nodded.

"See you, Carter," he agreed.

He headed towards the plane first, and LeBeau cast one more glance at Carter before following himself.

The second they had gone, Carter slumped against the outside wall of the barracks, praying that he would indeed see them again.

Din arrived, clearing her throat to announce her presence.

"I hope I'm not intruding," she said. "But is something wrong?"

"No, not really," said Carter. "Closer to the truth is that just about _everything_ is wrong."

"I see…" said Din. "There was a time long ago when my entire homeland, Holodrum, was wrong…"

"Yeah, that's another thing that I don't get," said Carter. "We read about you the first time Veran gave us trouble when we first looked up the legend of that amethyst—we read about you and Nayru and all sorts of other stuff… but that was in stories from more than a hundred years ago." He turned to face Din. "How the heck are you here in this time, all solid and everything?"

"I'm not sure," said Din, honestly, with a shrug. "It must have something to do with how Veran warped the world. She must have done something to space and time—she's done it before."

Carter sighed.

"Yeah, it seems like the only thing she hasn't done before is steal people's life force like she did to Peter." He clenched a fist. "He didn't deserve this. He was so full of life and loved it. And things would be so much better if he were here, even if Veran was in charge like she is now. We probably would've taken her down by now. I would've cooked up a whole mess of charges that would've knocked her into next year. No—the next year or decade! Heck, the next century, even!"

He sighed.

"Listen to me. I don't know what's happened to me—I was never the same after Peter died," he went on. "Well, vanished is more the right word—Nayru thinks that his spirit was somehow assimilated to the darkness. That would explain why I haven't heard from his spirit." He swallowed hard. "I don't even know if Peter Newkirk technically exists anymore, or if he's just some shapeless shadow that I'll never recognize…"

Din now placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I have never had anyone that close to me," she confessed. "I'm just a dancer, as well as the Oracle of Seasons. Because of my status as an Oracle, people are wary or nervous of befriending me."

"Guess we're just a pair of misfits," Carter commented, though his voice was not as bitter as he usually had been for the past few years.

"I guess so," said Din. She glanced at him, a mix of feelings visible on her face, and Carter's eyebrows arched slightly, as though he could read some of them.

"I don't think I'm the person you're looking for," he said, flatly, backing away.

"Is it that… or are you not ready to trust anyone else yet?" asked Din. "Or is it that you just afraid to let anyone get close to you for the fear of losing them, too?"

The sergeant's eyes widened, staring at Din. His old shyness now crept back into him, turning his face red.

"Look, Din…" he said. "My mind is on other things—I have to start on those charges; I can't afford to be distracted. I mean… my skills are going to be key against Veran now that we know her weakness. You… you understand, right?"

Din gave him a sad smile. "Yes, I understand. You are not ready to open your heart to anyone else yet for a variety of reasons."

Carter looked uncomfortable.

"It is all right," said Din. "But if your heart ever feels ready to open again…" she trailed of, unsure of how to phrase her words.

"I'll let you know…" Carter stammered, looking away to stop from going red. "But do you really believe in love at first sight?"

"Do you?" asked Din.

"I suppose I did once…" the American mused. "When I was young and had stars in my eyes. I had a girlfriend, and we went steady… We even got engaged. But, wouldn't you know, she met someone else when I was a prisoner of war, and…" He shook his head. "It was Peter and the others who helped me get over it. We all pulled each other through a lot during the war." He sighed again. "Maybe that's why what happened to Peter is affecting me this badly. I wasn't able to pull him through this time." _And that's going to haunt me forever_.

Din bowed her head. "I can tell you held your friend close," she said. "I can hear it in your voice. You still care for him."

"I'll never stop," vowed Carter. "I just wish there was a way that I could be sure that he knows it…"

"If you were as close as you say, I'm sure he never doubted it," said Din.

"I know," said Carter. "But I'd give anything to hear his voice saying he knows." He furiously kicked the wall. "Why did Veran have to take him! Of all of the people she could have taken, why him! It's not like he has special powers or anything…"

"He did have one power that made him invaluable to her," Din observed. "It's evident in what's happened to you and your companions. By taking him, she sought to destroy you."

"That's why I'm fighting back," said Carter. "She was hoping that I'd stand aside, too crushed to fight back… But, no. I'm going to see justice served to her, to Onox, to that Masked Shadow creep, and to everyone else working for her…" He trailed off, realizing what he was saying.

"Listen to me," he said, again. "This… this isn't me."

Din's words rang in his head again.

"_By taking him, she sought to destroy you…"_

He glanced at his reflection in the glass covering of his watch. He saw the bitterness in his eyes—the eyes that, during the war, had held seemingly unending optimism. _Maybe she's succeeded_… he thought, bitterly. _I don't recognize that reflection anymore_.

"I am sorry, Little Deer," said Din. "My words have caused you much distress."

"Don't be," said Carter. "You only spoke the truth."

It was true—Din's conversation with him had indeed brought many things to light… things he would have to address. But more importantly, he had to determine what to say to LeBeau when—and if—he returned.

_You've got to come back, Louis—you and Olsen_… he mentally pleaded. _I'm afraid of what I might further turn into if you don't_.

* * *

_Author's Note: In case anyone is curious, in the actual Legend of Zelda canon, Veran's final spider form is indeed only weak to explosives—it's a wonderful coincidence that I aim to exploit. Also, before anyone asks, I am __not__ shipping Carter/Din. Din is a bit of a flirt, so I'm just keeping her IC._


	5. The Gray of Evening

Olsen, being the more experienced flier, had taken it upon himself to fly the plane to Labrynna, using the map that Nayru had brought with her. LeBeau could only stare when they arrived—monsters were heavily concentrated here, and the air seemed to make the shadows almost tangible.

"This… this is supposed to be Labrynna?" the Frenchman whispered. "People actually lived here once?" He trailed off, looking around at the horrible scene. "It is just barren dirt and monsters!"

To illustrate his comment, several pig-snouted monsters scuttled by, spitting rocks out of their snouts.

"Everywhere else has suffered like this since Veran took over," Olsen reminded him. "What on earth made you think that Labrynna would be any better? You should have expected it to be worse, especially since this is where she has her base."

A bolt of red lightning illuminated Ambi's Tower.

"I suggest we go forward—see how many of her minions are guarding the outside and inside," the sergeant went on. He grabbed two dark, hooded cloaks that they had made, which were identical to the cloaks that Veran's minions wore, and handed one to LeBeau as he threw the other one over his uniform.

"There are going to be goons everywhere," said LeBeau, placing his cloak around himself. "We must be careful that they do not see us unless absolutely necessary." He pulled Olsen towards some shriveled shrubbery, aiming to use it as cover to help them get closer towards the tower. "These disguises may look perfect, but if the monsters can smell us, are done for." He gave a shudder as they snuck by some hungry bipedal boars, tearing ravenously into some undercooked meat.

Olsen looked at the monstrous boars in disgust as they snuck past the skeletal Stalfos guards patrolling back and forth along the outside of the tower. The Stalfos gave them no indication of having sensed them as, one after the other, they darted between them, just like they had done to enemy guards numerous times during the war.

Despite being able to sneak past the monsters outside, the duo's presence was not unnoticed.

Veran's increase in power had allowed her to sense the approach of the two intruders.

"Someone has come…" she murmured to Onox. She crossed to the window, frowning as the Stalfos did not react. "They have somehow snuck past the Stalfos, so they must be in here."

"It can't be the resistance," Onox said. "They do not have magic; they don't even know our location!"

"You seem to have forgotten that they met with Nayru last night," Veran said, scowling. "She will have told them everything—including my weakness to explosives when I transform. But that does not mean my defeat just yet."

She turned to the Masked Shadow.

"Come here…"

"Milady?" the Masked Shadow asked, walking over to her.

"Do you know of a way for those resistance members to get their hands on any explosives?" she asked placing two fingers on the young man's forehead. She would grant him partial access to the memories she had previously locked away. Now, he would remember things and facts, but not the emotions associated with those people or events.

The Masked Shadow's hazel eyes glazed over as she began to tap into his mind and revealed things that had apparently been hidden in his subconscious. He did not know from where he was getting this information; he only knew that he knew it. And he had to tell Veran all about it.

"Yes," he said. "The clumsy one—the one I fought with last night—is an expert at building, dismantling, and modifying explosives."

Veran cursed in her own tongue. She had to find their stronghold as soon as possible and destroy that threat to her existence.

The witch closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to sense who the two intruders were. Was the demolitions expert one of them?

"Tell me," she said, placing two fingers on the Masked Shadow's head again, so that he could sense the two auras approaching through her magic. "Is that clumsy oaf among the ones here now?"

"No, Milady. The auras are different. One is just another one of their outside men, and the other…" The Masked Shadow's eyes flickered as he sensed the other aura and felt a tug on his heartstrings.

In the back of his mind, he could hear his own voice, somehow connecting to that second aura.

"_It's not a gourmet dish—it's ruddy fish stew!"_

Veran, still connected to him, scowled as she heard it, too. _That_ was not a good sign…

She muttered under her breath, making sure the spell she had used to lock the rest of those telltale memories was strengthened.

"He is the resistance's chef?" she asked, quietly.

"Yes, Milady," the Masked Shadow said, now unable to recall what he had just remembered.

Veran's lips turned into a smirk. She knew exactly who was behind this now—Nayru had indeed revealed all of her secrets, and now these two were here to scout the area and the tower. And that short one—he was the one who had been in the young man's memories the most before she had sealed them out of his consciousness. As the Masked Shadow's reaction had just proven, this mere chef was another threat—one as big as the clumsy demolitions expert. The chef clearly had the power to make the Masked Shadow remember what Veran had so painstakingly locked away. It was now clear that the only reason she had gotten away with the current level of the spell for the past five years was because the Masked Shadow had not crossed paths with the chef since.

But now, the sorceress had this potentially troublesome chef right in her clutches. And how sweet would the irony be if the Masked Shadow was to be the one to end up eliminating that threat?

"Listen closely," she said. "The presence of those two here is a threat—we cannot let them leave here."

"What must I do, Milady?" said the Masked Shadow. "They are in the Tower, are they not? I can meet them halfway. And, what next?"

"I know exactly what we must do next," Veran purred. "For one thing, we need to find out where their stronghold is so that we can eliminate the demolitions expert before he creates anything that might be used against me."

The Masked Shadow blinked behind his mask.

"I understand," he said. "I shall bring them both to you."

"No," said Veran, her eyes narrowing as she smirked. "Don't concern yourself with both of them. There is only one of them with whom you must contend—the short one. He is a chef, pretending to be a warrior."

She chuckled, but was annoyed and concerned when the Masked Shadow did not laugh, as well.

Perhaps this was a risky move… What if the spell was to break—what would happen then…? No; she had to do this… She had to have _him_ do this. If the Masked Shadow killed the chef with his own hands, then she knew that the spell she had on him would be permanent. "You will engage him in combat—he should not take long to defeat. And then…" Her eyes narrowed even further. "You will slay him."

"But I thought you would wish to question him, Milady," said the Masked Shadow, ignoring the tug on his heartstrings again. "Why slay that chef if, as you say, he can't even fight?"

"Because I want him destroyed!" Veran snapped back. "It is not like you to question my orders!"

"I… Forgive me, Milady," the Masked Shadow said, dropping to one knee. "I will do as you bid and slay him. Do you wish for me to do the same to the other intruder?"

"No," said the sorceress, satisfied that he would not waver again. "I want Onox to capture the other one; we will get the information we need from him. But, remember, your orders are very clear." She stared at the Masked Shadow, her eyes boring into him and his soul. "Destroy the short one."

The Masked Shadow bowed before her, even lower. "If that is what Milady wishes, then it shall be done."

Veran now smiled again.

"Very good," said Veran. "I trust you will be triumphant. Go, now—go with Onox." She glared at Onox. "And you had best remember what I told you earlier. You will not let any harm come to my heir."

Onox grumbled under his breath, but knew that he had no alternative.

"You'd better not get in my way," the Dark General snarled at the Masked Shadow. "The last thing I need is an inept sidekick."

"Onox, you are the inept one," the Masked Shadow calmly countered. "My success rate is significantly higher than yours. You have never even gone near those resistance members—I have engaged in combat with them."

Veran smirked.

"I'm afraid he has a point, Onox…"

Onox just growled furiously under his breath as he exited the room. The Masked Shadow smirked as well, following him. Veran sat back on her throne, now channeling even more energy into locking the Masked Shadow's memories away. She would not be taking any chances.

* * *

LeBeau froze as he and Olsen saw Onox and the Masked Shadow approaching. Was it just a coincidence that they had met them halfway? And… why did he feel so sick to his stomach upon seeing the Masked Shadow for the first time?

The Masked Shadow's eyes narrowed. He sensed the presence of someone not of the darkness ahead, in those robes. He sneered. Veran was right—these thorns would be best pulled out of their side.

"_Now_…" Veran's voice purred to him.

The Masked Shadow suddenly drew his knife and charged towards the two robed intruders.

The cry had barely left LeBeau's throat when the Masked Shadow tackled him. As he crashed to the stairwell, he knew that the game was up.

"Run, Olsen!" LeBeau yelled.

The sergeant hesitated, not wanting to leave the corporal behind, but he knew that both of them getting captured would be worse than just one. He ducked under Onox's extending arm, heading up the stairs.

"Go after him, Onox!" the Masked Shadow ordered. "I'll deal with this fool, as veran ordered!"

As Onox left and chased after Olsen, LeBeau could only freeze again. The Masked Shadow's voice… it was paralyzing him with some unspeakable feeling. He expected that it was fear, and yet… in his heart, he knew that the horror he was feeling wasn't because of fear.

An invisible arrow zinged into the Frenchman's heart, and he was blinking back tears. But why?

The Masked Shadow turned to the Frenchman, smirking.

"Look at you," he sneered. "You're no fighter—you couldn't even defend yourself. Queen Veran was right—you are no warrior."

A tear fell from one of the corporal's eyes. The Masked Shadow's sneer only deepened, and, disgusted, he struck the poor Frenchman across the face where the tear was trailing down his cheek.

"You pathetic resistance members think you're so brave," he spat. "But you're all cowards, just as Queen Veran said. Your leader is all talk and insults, but nothing more. And here you are, crying in fear before me."

"I am not crying in fear!" LeBeau spat back, holding his face where he had been hit. "I…" He trailed off. He wasn't sure why he was crying at all.

"I don't need to hear your excuses…" the Masked Shadow spat. He raised his knife. "Will you defend yourself, or will fall this readily?"

"I will retreat," LeBeau quipped. He shoved the Masked Shadow away, got to his feet, and he turned tail and headed down the stairwell.

The Masked Shadow snarled, and he gave chase as LeBeau struggled to stay ahead of him. The Frenchman was dodging puzzled monsters and guards; after all, they had not seen him going up. The monsters looked to the Masked Shadow, awaiting their orders from him.

"Follow me," he ordered them. "We will not let this little fool get away from Queen Veran!"

Another arrow zinged into LeBeau's heart.

"Stop it!" he yelled, turning in his tracks to face the Masked Shadow again. "Stop calling her that!"

"You fool; Queen Veran has been reigning for five years; if she is not the Queen, then what is she?" the Masked Shadow said.

"I… I do not know. But she is not _your_ Queen!" LeBeau said.

He blinked; where were these words coming from? It wasn't his brain thinking of the words coming out of his mouth; something else inside him was making him talk. And why… _why_ did he feel physically ill upon seeing this man, when he had stared at the obviously stronger Onox without any such feeling?

The Masked Shadow's eyes narrowed.

"Queen Veran _is_ my queen," he said softly. "She is like a mother to me. She is my life; I exist to serve her and to one day inherit her realm. She is in the process of making me her co-regent."

LeBeau's stomach actually did lurch at these words. This was wrong… this was all wrong! He wasn't sure why, but he knew it was.

"You cannot…" he whispered, as he continued backing away.

"Now I see what your pathetic strategy is," the Masked Shadow muttered, as he glared at LeBeau. "You can't fight, so you run at the mouth like an idiot, and you say things that don't make sense to try to confuse everyone."

"I do not know why I am saying these things," LeBeau countered. "But I know they are true."

What was he doing? He didn't have time to stand there and argue with the Masked Shadow when he didn't even know why seeing him was making him feel this way! He had to get away, and he had to find Olsen so that they could both escape this horrible place! And with no way to call for help, it would be up to him.

"I do not know who you are," LeBeau said to the Masked Shadow. "But I know that this is not your destiny. There are better things for you than working for Veran."

"You know nothing of my destiny," the Masked Shadow hissed. "But your destiny is very clear. You will fall, begging me and Queen Veran for mercy."

"Not if I can help it," said LeBeau, retreating down the stairs again. The Masked Shadow took off after him, and the Frenchman was trying his hardest not to listen to the voice in his mind ordering him not to run away. In spite of his best efforts to ignore it, the more he ran, the more he felt his heart twist.

Olsen, in the meantime, was trying to evade Onox, but that wasn't easy when he knew that in the back of his mind, there would be a very slim chance of escape from the top of the tower.

"Give it up, Fool!" Onox snarled.

Olsen only increased his speed, and that prompted Onox to hurl a large, thick chain at him. The chain snaked around one of the sergeant's ankles, and he hit the ground. Onox sneered, pulling the sergeant towards him.

"Ah, well done, Onox," said Veran, walking out of the throne room upon hearing the commotion of Olsen's fall, which had been followed by his angered oaths against Onox.

The sergeant had fallen silent upon Veran's arrival. The witch now regarded him with a smirk.

"I never thought that you resistance members were much of a threat," she said to him. "But with the resistance becoming more and more of an annoyance, I have come to realize that I should have given you magicless mortals more attention. And now I will. There is much I wish to know from you."

"I won't tell you anything," Olsen hissed. "All they got from me in the war was my name, rank, and serial number, and that's all you're going to get."

"This is not a war," Veran purred. "There is no war—the world is mine, and there is no one who can contest me. Tell me, now… Where are you from? How did you get to Labrynna? You are close by to the Altes Schloss, no doubt, but how close are you?"

"Sergeant Steve Olsen, 17081630."

Veran's smirk only grew, much to Olsen's alarm.

"Take him to the dungeon, Onox. We will be more likely to loosen his tongue there."

"The dungeon…?" Onox asked, incredulously. "That's in the underground level of the tower. I just chased this pest to the turret; you expect me to take him all the way down there? Why couldn't I question him here?"

Veran crossed her arms, glaring at him.

Onox growled in frustration, taking the struggling Olsen down the stairs. The sergeant cursed both himself and his captor.

He could only hope that, by some miracle, LeBeau was still free.

* * *

But the two sides in this struggle were both unaware that there was soon going to be a new player in this game—a player that no one had anticipated. A large ship had long since departed from the Gerudo Valley in Hyrule, and now reached the Labrynnan shores. Painted on the hull of the ship was the Gerudo symbol.

Numerous Stalfos and other monsters leaped out of the boat to pull it up further onto shore and secure it to the nearby rocks. A figure, cloaked in shadow, now crossed to the bow, gazing down at the minions pulling the boat ashore.

The figure watching from the bow eventually leaped from the boat, his feet slamming into the sandy ground. His eyes narrowed as he looked around at the desolate landscape. He normally wouldn't have come to this wretched land; he would have been content with staying and ruling in Hyrule—not a very difficult task with the royals missing. But Veran had to be taught a lesson, and he would be the one to teach it to her. No one crossed the Gerudo King and expected to get away with it, and Veran's bold claims that the world was now hers was not something that the Gerudo King would tolerate—not when the world was to be his, and his alone!

Heavily booted feet dug into the sand as the large, muscular, and armored man strode up the shore. He stared at Ambi's Tower, far off in the distance, rage filling his eyes as the chilling wind ruffled his short, red hair.

The man's large lungs filled with air, and then unleashed a Gerudo war cry.

The Evil King Ganondorf had come to Labrynna.


End file.
